


quia mens tua

by Salty_Cro



Series: knives in the sand, gun in your hand [4]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Idiots in Love, M/M, really just sier is an idiot in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 02:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_Cro/pseuds/Salty_Cro
Summary: sier yvarez is the stupidest dumb idiot to walk this earthtitle: know your mind





	quia mens tua

**Author's Note:**

> i should probably stop using latin phrases so people dont think im a legion stan but it looks cooler to bullshit in latin that english lmao
> 
> anyway there is alcohol use in this

Sier was a captivating speaker.

 

He could command a room with a few words, sway whole armies with one meeting, enamor anyone who crossed his path. It was nothing. He was effortlessly witty, enrapturing crowds with his stories. He could befriend anyone with the right turn of phrase. No one could ever tell when he was lying, either. A few brave souls even said Sier was more charismatic that Mr. New Vegas.

 

Sier had brushed that particular complement off, obviously, but he repeated it to Arcade. Arcade had laughed and said dryly that it might be true. Sier had laughed too, but he could feel his ego doubling in size. It was weird, too, because somehow, Sier could never keep up that facade with Arcade. Any time Sier talked to him, he was genuine, he stumbled over words, and he was a terrible liar. There was none of the showmanship, the performance, unless Sier was doing it as a joke. And he did joke a lot around Arcade, just to get that one snort-laugh out of him. Arcade didn't do so great at facades around Sier either, luckily.

 

It was that genuine connection that made Sier want to keep Arcade around. And since his words were so cheap, Sier found it easier to communicate with gestures.

 

It started small. Sier would bring Arcade gifts, whether they were rare foods or new clothes or some sort of new research material. He would stand protectively in front of Arcade whenever they faced any danger, even though he was noticeably smaller. He would often brush his hand against Arcade’s arm as a signal. Sometimes, after a particularly long or dangerous mission, Sier would gently intertwine his fingers with Arcade’s and lean his head on Arcade’s shoulder while they walked home.

 

But for all of Sier's people skills, he was never sure if Arcade understood what he was saying. Arcade would thank him for the gifts, respond to Sier’s warnings and signals, and even squeeze Sier’s hand. But he never commented on the constant attention, never revealed if he minded or even cared. Sier didn't want to get in his head about it, but he was starting to wonder if Arcade didn't actually like him at all.

 

“Do I annoy you?” Sier asked out of the blue.

 

Sier and Arcade were sitting in the living room of the Lucky 38 suite. For the past hour or so they had been silently working on their separate projects. Sier had been attempting to repair his plasma rifle, but he kept zoning out and thinking about Arcade. Arcade looked over at Sier, setting down the notebook he was writing in.

 

“That depends,” Arcade replied, with just the hint of a smirk on his lips. Sier knew he was one of the few people who would even be able to notice that. “Most of the time, no. But once in a blue week you'll do something stupid like jumping over a flaming barrel or take a rusty machete to the shoulder. But that's not really annoying, just, y'know, upsetting and dangerous. So no, you're not annoying."

 

“I mean… that makes sense, yeah, but I was… I was thinking about something else,” Sier mumbled, looking down at his gun.

 

Arcade frowned, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing. Just overthinking things. I’m… strung out, I guess,” Sier shook it off.

 

“Alright. I’m here if you need to talk,” Arcade said, going back to his notebook.

 

A precarious silence settled over them. Sier tried to go back to fixing his plasma rifle, but he was still distracted. Whenever Arcade turned a page, or wrote something down, or took a drink from his cola, Sier kept glancing over at him. He fiddled with a screwdriver and tried to think actively about what he was doing. Naturally, that made him worse at it.

 

Arcade’s voice jolted Sier out of his daze. “Okay, I’ve watched you put that screw in wrong three times now. Clearly something’s up.”

 

Instead of responding like a normal person, Sier made a pointed show of putting the screw in correctly. Arcade raised an eyebrow at him. Sier sighed and set the plasma rifle on the coffee table.

 

“Sorry, I’m just worried. About a lot of things,” Sier said vaguely. Sure, the distant threat of imminent war was stressful. Right now, though, Sier was just trying ot figure out what his problem with Arcade was.

 

“We’re on unofficial vacation,” Arcade pointed out, “You don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

 

Sier huffed out a laugh. “I wish it were that easy.”

 

Another tense quiet filled the room. Sier kept looking at Arcade, wondering what about him was so interesting. He felt like he was at the edge of the answer, but something was stopping him from getting it. Sier fiddled with the modded accelerator on his rifle. Hopefully whatever it was would be over soon. Maybe if he just ignored it-- nope, he was looking at Arcade again. Shit.

 

“You know, there are more effective ways of communicating with someone than staring at them from across the room, right?” Arcade noticed.

 

“I’m just having a hard time focusing. I think I should go take a nap,” Sier said. Even though his plasma rifle was only half-constructed on the table and it was 11 o’clock in the morning. He stood up abruptly and walked out of the room.

 

Now Arcade would know something was up. Sier never took naps. In fact, Arcade often had to convince him to go to sleep (though to be fair, Sier had had to do the same for Arcade plenty of times). To make things worse, Sier didn’t even know what was wrong. It was clearly some sort of emotional response, but being shot in the part of the brain that deciphers those emotions put a bit of a barrier in Sier’s mind. 

 

Instead of going to his bed, Sier sat down at his desk. He turned on the terminal and opened the database. Maybe one of the files would mention something useful. Sifting through the index, Sier wasn’t seeing anything relevant to his current predicament. He looked into a few articles, but nothing struck a chord. He was reaching the end of the index when a file name caught his eye.

 

“‘[Eleven Signs You’re Falling in Love, According to Science](https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/love-11-scientific-signs-romance-relationships-attraction-a7944751.html)?’” Sier muttered. He stared at the name, before finally giving in. “Well, if science has something to say about it.”

 

Sier clicked on it. It was an article listing eleven things that people who are in love tend to do. He tried desperately not to compare himself to the traits on the list. This was a Pre-War study, so it was definitely not applicable anymore. Social cues and indicators were probably a lot different back then. Right?

 

Sier went over it again, just to make sure.

 

“Staring.” Sier didn’t stare at Arcade. Sure, he would examine Arcade for injuries after a fight, but that was mutual damage control. Well, sometimes, like in the living room, Sier would get distracted by Arcade’s movements and look at him for longer than what might be acceptable. But that wasn’t because he was in love. Sier moved on.

 

“Feeling high.” Sier wasn’t entirely sure what being high felt like. Helping all the addicts in Freeside had permanently enforced a fear of drugs into Sier. Only on occasion did he even drink a Rum and Nuka. So even if Sier did feel high, which he didn’t (probably), he wouldn’t be able to tell. Unless being high was like the light feeling he got in his chest whenever he was close to Arcade, but that was probably just the weight of all the acting being lifted off his chest. He went to the next entry.

 

“Thinking about them.” Sier automatically disagreed with that one. People thought about each other all the time, and it didn’t mean anything. Whenever they went outside of Freeside, Sier thought about whether Arcade really wanted to go, and about how he was doing, and if he was getting tired. Those were just regular worries, though. Sier shrugged and read the next one.

 

“Want them to be happy.” Sier frowned; he generally wanted everyone to be happy, with the exception of certain groups. Sure, he always factored Arcade’s opinions into his decisions, but who didn’t get their friend’s input on things? And he always brought him stuff, but again, friend stuff. Besides, it’s not like Sier wanted Arcade to get into all the sticky situations Sier managed to get himself into for the gifts. It didn’t have to mean anything. Sier looked at the fifth item.

 

“Feeling stressed.” Sier scoffed at that one. He was carrying the future of the Mojave in his pocket, was he supposed to be calm? If anything, being alone with Arcade was a respite from all of Sier’s responsibilities. They could trust each other, and neither of them expected anything from the other that they themself wouldn’t do. That was normal for friends. Sier scrolled down.

 

“Higher pain tolerance.” Okay, that one might be onto something. Not that Sier was in love or anything, but Sier did feel like he could be stronger whenever Arcade was around. Maybe it was an act, but those usually fell apart around Arcade. It didn’t matter either way though, because one out of eleven doesn’t mean anything. Sier went down to the seventh one.

 

“Trying new things.” That wasn’t true. While a lot of things were new for Sier, it was always him trying to convince Arcade to try new things. Arcade would usually pretend that he didn't want to do things, but he would give in every time. So that one didn’t work. Sier moved on.

 

“Synchronized heart rate.” That would be hard to test, considering that neither of them regularly had stethoscopes. Sier was fairly sure that that was some sort of fluke in the survey anyway. Well, sometimes when they were running from something, Sier felt like their pulses were synced. But that didn’t make sense logistically. Sier just continued reading.

 

“Okay with the gross stuff.” Sier didn’t really have a metric of comparison for that one. They were both generally clean, although Arcade tended to leave empty Nuka Cola bottles around, and Sier would leave expired food in the refrigerator sometimes. Neither of them really complained about it, but that was just how living with someone else was. Sier kept going.

 

“Extra sweaty.” Sier almost laughed. First of all, there was no point in the day in which he was not sweaty. Wearing a leather duster was not exactly the best choice for walking around the Mojave, but Sier had created an image for himself. There was also the confounding variable of the amount of time spent near Arcade when they were outside versus inside. This article clearly wasn’t relevant anymore. Sier proceeded to the last item in the article.

 

“Love their quirks.” Sier didn’t know what to do with that. Was a quirk a certain behavior or a speech pattern? Was it not remembering your past or not knowing whether to forget it?

 

Maybe it was all of it. Maybe Sier was recalling all the little things he remembered about Arcade. Like the messy cactus sketches in his notebooks. And the Latin phrases he would mutter under his breath. And the way he complained about the sun. And the movies he would watch in the living room, and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about science, and the absurdly obscure references he would make and the little hand gestures he would do and how he explained the joke to Sier afterwards and the way he would laugh when Sier made a bad joke and oh fuck Sier was totally in love with Arcade.

 

“Hey, you’re not sleeping,” Arcade said. Sier jolted and looked up. Arcade was standing in the doorway. Sier turned the terminal off as casually as possible.

 

“Yeah,” Sier replied noncommittally.

 

“You sure you’re okay? I haven’t seen you like this since… well, ever,” Arcade asked. Sier looked down at his keyboard. He didn’t have a good excuse.

 

“I, uh, just had an idea for someth--it’s not important,” Sier stumbled. He was hyper aware of his accelerated breathing and his heartbeat pounding in his head and the way his eyes were darting around the room, trying to find anything beside Arcade to focus on. Arcade frowned.

 

“Sier…” Arcade came closer. “Can I check your pulse?”

 

“I’m fine!” Sier exclaimed, sounding more panicked than anything.

 

“Can you remember the past twelve hours?” Arcade asked. He was doing his doctor spiel, and he was still coming closer.

 

“We came home, I went to bed, I woke up and ate, then we were in the living room. I came in here and was checking something on the database,” Sier listed quickly. He tried to slow his breathing.

 

“What have you eaten in that time?” Arcade asked. His voice was calm, but Sier could tell he wasn’t.

 

“I had gecko steak last night, and some prickly pear this morning,” Sier said.

 

“Did you take any chems? Including Stimpaks and Radaway,” Arcade asked.

 

“No,” Sier said. He tried to meet Arcade’s eyes so he would know Sier wasn’t lying, but he couldn’t hold it together for more than a few seconds. Arcade’s eyes had so much genuine caring and concern that Sier felt like he was going to explode.

 

“Is there anything obstructing your breathing?” Arcade inquired. Now he was standing over Sier. Sier was worrying the edge of the desk with his fingers.

 

“No, and there’s no current environmental stressors,” Sier lied, trying to speed up the process. He still didn’t move.

 

“Do you need anything?” Arcade offered.

 

“I’ll be fine, I just need to lay down. Look, I’ll actually do it this time,” Sier said. He stood up with jerky movements and walked over to the bed. He laid down on top of the covers, facing away from Arcade. He looked back over his shoulder; Arcade was still in the same spot, watching him.

 

“I’ll be in the other room, just yell if you need me,” Arcade said. Sier heard him leave.

 

Some unknown amount of time passed. Sier couldn’t sleep. So many thoughts raced through his head. How long had he been in love with Arcade? Should he tell him? Would Arcade feel the same? What would happen if he didn’t? How did this happen? Sier wasn’t supposed to fall in love here. He was supposed to be a public figure, an impersonal helper of the Mojave. He would fix stuff and then move on to the next job. To be fair, Sier had flirted with Arcade first. That wasn’t the only reason Arcade started hanging out with him, but technically Sier had made the first move. He hadn’t meant it in a relationship way at the time, it was just part of his charm. And Arcade knew that, so he--

 

Suddenly, Sier heard Arcade’s footsteps. Arcade came into the room and turned on the terminal. Sier froze. Arcade was going to find the article and put the pieces together and--

 

Arcade giggled. Honest-to-god laughed.

 

Sier hated how absolutely giddy Arcade's laugh made him feel, even when directed at Sier's unfortunate feelings. He couldn’t say anything without revealing the fact that he was awake, so he just shifted slightly. God, this was really the worst. It was somehow worse than Arcade outright rejecting him. Sier held in the scathing replies that were waiting in his throat.

 

“Sier, I know you’re awake,” Arcade said. Sier could hear his smirk.

 

“There’s no one here,” Sier grumbled.

 

“Pre-War tabloids, huh? There were no other sources you could have looked at before that?” Arcade said.

 

“It had ‘science’ in the name,” Sier replied weakly. He rolled over to face Arcade.

 

“So who is it?” Arcade grinned.

 

Sier paused, mouth open like he was about to speak. Arcade didn’t know. But if he paused for too long Arcade would get suspicious and--

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Arcade said. He sounded less amused now and more restrained.

 

If Sier didn’t know better, he would think Arcade was disappointed. But instead of replying, Sier just focused really hard on trying to disintegrate. At least then he wouldn’t have to think about how to reply. When he regrettably remained alive and intact, he sat up on the edge of the bed.

 

“I’m going to the Wrangler,” Sier said. He stood up and went over to the gun cabinet, looking for a plasma pistol.

 

“Sier…” Arcade said cautiously.

 

“You can come if you want,” Sier offered.

 

He wasn't upset at Arcade. Just not good at dealing with legitimate feelings. Sier tucked the pistol into his duster and walked out of the room. He regretted offering the invite as he heard Arcade following him. He stepped into the elevator. Arcade came in with him.

 

“Sier, are you--” Arcade started.

 

“I’m fine. I’m not angry. I just don’t know… what to do,” Sier sighed.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Arcade asked. What was Sier supposed to say to that?

 

“I… not really,” Sier said.

 

The rest of the two-minute elevator ride was uneasy, to say the least. Sier felt bad for not talking to Arcade, but he didn’t want to do anything that would break the fragile shell he was building around his newly discovered emotions. He just had to get himself under control and shut the feelings down without anyone finding out he had them in the first place.

 

It wasn't a long walk to the Atomic Wrangler. Through the gate, waving to an uncaring Securitron, down the street and to the left. It was like muscle memory at this point. Francine greeted them and offered a drink on the house. Sier ordered a Rum and Nuka, and Arcade asked for a Sunset Sarsaparilla. They sat down at a table near the stairs.

 

“I think I’m gonna ask around and see if anyone needs supplies,” Sier said, trying to keep his tone casual. They both knew that Sier always did supply runs when he needed to think.

 

“I think Julie mentioned needing more Med-X,” Arcade replied. Then it went back to silence.

 

After a few more minutes of quiet, Sier finished his drink and got another. Normally, he stuck with just one, but this was a two drink situation. Worst case scenario, he had a room upstairs he could stay in. Arcade didn’t seem to have anything to say about the out-of-character decision. That drink didn’t last very long either. Sier was beginning to feel warm and dizzy. He kept looking at Arcade, and most of the time Arcade was looking back. Sier kept opening his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t filter his thoughts into coherent words, so he just looked away. After about thirty tries, Sier finally managed to get something out.

 

“Do you think I should stay here?” Sier asked.

 

“At this table? I’m sure there are other people who are gonna want it,” Arcade said. Sier smiled. Arcade was so funny.

 

“No… in New Vegas. The Mojave,” Sier clarified. His speech was slower and more deliberate than normal.

 

“Are you… do you want to leave?” Arcade frowned. Now Arcade was upset?

 

“Wait, are you sad?” Sier said, perhaps louder than he should have. “If it makes you sad then I won't leave.”

 

Sier looked at Arcade earnestly. He still seemed upset, but Sier couldn't figure out why.

 

“You don't have to base your decisions on me,” Arcade said, “But I…”

 

Arcade looked away. Sier was worried he had done something wrong.

 

“I want you to stay,” Arcade finished.

 

“Then I'll stay,” Sier announced. Something in the back of his mind said that he shouldn't say that so definitively, but Sier didn't care. He didn't want Arcade to be sad ever.

 

They lapsed back into silence. Arcade stopped Sier from getting another drink, which was probably for the best. Sier was already buzzed, and he felt like everything he had ever wanted to say was waiting in his throat.

 

“Are you ready to head back?” Arcade asked. Sier looked up at him.

 

“Yeah,” Sier said. Arcade was so pretty, even in the dingy lighting of the bar.

 

“Come on, it's going to get dark soon,” Arcade said. He stood up and held out a hand to Sier.

 

Sier took it and stood up, swaying a little bit. Arcade led him out the door. Sier clung to his hand, leaning on his shoulder. They walked through Freeside like that, but Arcade seemed to get more tense as they got closer to the gate. Sier let go of him and flashed his passport to get in.

 

From there, it was a short walk to the Lucky 38. Then they went in the elevator and started the ascent. The only sound was the elevator cable moving. Sier leaned against the wall and avoided Arcade’s eyes.

 

When they got to the top, Sier headed immediately for his bed. Then he stopped and turned back to Arcade.

 

“Arcade?” Sier said.

 

“Yeah?” Arcade replied.

 

“Can I tell you something?” Sier asked.

 

“Sure,” Arcade said.

 

“It's you,” Sier admitted.

 

“What is?” Arcade asked.

 

Sier didn't really hear him, and was already in bed. He heard Arcade follow him, but he didn't move. He was so tired.

 

“Sier--” Arcade started.

 

“I want you to stay,” Sier echoed Arcade's words from before. He reached for Arcade's arm and tried to pull him down.

 

“Sier, you're not in a--” Arcade tried.

 

“It's you! The article,” Sier insisted.

 

Sier watched Arcade as he figured it out.

 

“Are you sure?” Arcade asked.

 

“Who else would it be?” Sier replied.

 

Before he could hear Arcade's reply, he was asleep.

 

~-~

 

Sier woke up with a pounding in his head and a weight across his stomach. When he tried to move his arm, it was pinned under an unknown warm object. Sier looked towards it.

 

Arcade was pressed against Sier, asleep, with his glasses still on. His arm was across Sier’s stomach. Sier started frantically wracking his brain, trying to figure out what happened the night before. Nothing had happened, right? Then Arcade shifted, pulling himself closer to Sier. Sier completely lost his train of thought and melted into the touch. He could think about things later.

 

At some point, Sier drifted back into sleep. He woke up later to an empty bed, though the spot where Arcade had been was still warm. Sier got out of bed and walked slowly to the kitchen. The drinks were taking a toll on him.

 

“Hey.”

 

Sier turned. Arcade was sitting at the kitchen table.

 

“Hello,” Sier replied, looking away.

 

“About last night,” Arcade said. Sier froze, waiting for the breakpoint. “Did you mean what you said?”

 

Wait. What did Sier say? Did he tell… oh. Shit. Sier looked back at Arcade tentatively.

 

“Yeah?” Sier answered.

 

“Really?” Arcade asked.

 

“Why would I be in love with anyone else?” Sier said.

 

“You could have anyone in the Mojave,” Arcade pointed out.

 

“I want you,” Sier said simply.

 

Instead of replying, Arcade stood up and crossed the room, hesitating a few inches from Sier. Sier closed the gap by kissing Arcade. It was tentative but desperate, revealing how truly oblivious both of them had been.

 

When they pulled apart, Sier looked up at Arcade. “How long have I not noticed?”

 

“Well, considering it took until yesterday for you to figure out your feelings, it’s been a long time,” Arcade smiled. Sier grinned and kissed him again.


End file.
